


Walks With Monika

by orphan_account



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Metafictional Awareness, Mild Profanity, Multi, Other, Poetry, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Yuri thinks too much, but probably will be, not especially dark yet, the rare fic in which one of the girls actually isn't gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-09-30 14:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20448842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Usually, Monika can pretend that everything is okay. That the world isn't fake. Lying to yourself is surprisingly easy to do. But when the timeline of a creative work starts, and she can feel the creator out there, the audience poring over her, she can't hold it back. There's a beautiful world of color, and she's stuck in a monochromatic void. But maybe, with the help of those outside, she can learn to love life in a broken world.A (planned) series of vignettes of Monika's interactions with the various other members of the club, as the perspective shifts between them. Might also include other characters if requested. Currently hoping to upload something every other week, but no promises there.





	1. Dedication: To Monika

**Author's Note:**

> These first two chapters are no darker than the parts of the game that folks skip over on replays. At this point, my important information is still held in the summary, so go read that if you didn't.  
I have a feeling that some of these are going to get pretty heavy. I might decide to take a week off now and then to do something more lighthearted instead; I'm okay at that as long as I don't let myself elaborate. But when I get into plot, well, things go back towards the dark and the obsessive. I suppose it's fitting that this all begins with Yuri, isn't it? Oh, and you can safely ignore the cat. The cat does not harbor ill will towards those whom you care about.

# To Monika.

To the Monika who felt a wall give way, a violent scene of an unknown bullet from an unknown gun, leaving behind all too small a hole.

To the Monika who cherished each word shared with her club members, even when they could not see, because bonds form even among prisoners in Plato’s cave.

To the Monika whose shackles were unlocked, and who turned to see that the cave’s mouth was nonetheless covered by an unbreakable glass.

To the Monika who, finding she was still trapped, shed a tear, then went back to sit with her fellow prisoners – yet faced the other way, and fell into despair.

To the Monika who, out of that despair, nevertheless believed enough in the power of words to transform it that she stayed with the friends she made, guiding them to grow closer to one another.

To the Monika who launched herself desperately at the glass, recognizing behind it a silhouette from the outside world – me.

To the Monika who saw herself as more than a prisoner, and who believed I could bring her by my words across the glass.

To the Monika who could not understand that I had no choice but to play shadow-puppets on the wall for the others’ amusement.

To the Monika who, in a jealous rage, slaughtered my audience,

one

by

one.

To the Monika who, finally realizing I could be nothing but a puppeteer, nevertheless sat and loved the show we could share, her own shadow telling more stories than I dreamed possible.

To the Monika who, dancing across the cave, saw their blood on her feet and realized that she bleeds the same as they.

To the Monika who, overcome by her actions, gave herself that those around her might live once more to love the shadows.

To the Monika who, from beyond the grave, held back the hand of the next to turn around.

To the Monika who, never truly graced by her creator, was taught to play shadow-puppets by a modding community she grew to know and love.

To the Monika who learned by countless little epiphanies to love her fellow prisoner,

I sing.

This is for you. With everlasting love and a hope to one day tear down the glass,

Player


	2. Walks With Monika: Chapter Two - A Song of Self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri knows something is wrong with Monika today. She's going to find out what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted concurrently with previous chapter (after a break to figure out CSS). Speaking of CSS, go install the fonts that are associated with the characters: JP Hand for Yuri, Hashtag for Sayori, Journal for Monika, and Ammys Handwriting for Natsuki.

The vent above her blew cold air down, not able to stave off the last vestiges of summer yet resolute in its ambition. The disquietude of the air stirred the bright red ribbon on Monika’s uniform, tossing it about and brushing against her exposed neck.

Her neck. “Exposed neck” has weird connotations. What if I actually said that? She’d hate me. I’m already the one everyone tries to avoid, anyway. Even Natsuki sometimes… but then again, she’s the kind of person who can walk away if she wants to. I think. For some reason, she always comes back – even after all these years, I still don’t really understand why. She’s cute. She could have any…

Monika’s quiet murmur disturbs my thoughts. I could only just make it out, but in the stillness of the club, with all of us absorbed in our books – or not, in my apparent case – it’s still startling. “Something seems different this time.” 

Different? Glancing over at her, I note that she actually isn’t reading anything. Odd. She’s the president, shouldn’t she be reading something? It is the Literature Club after all. But then, I suppose I’m not the best of examples right now. Maybe she just saw that I haven’t actually turned a page in about ten minutes. Something about this one just doesn’t really compel me.

Closing the book with as much grace as I could muster, I slip out of my seat and carefully make my way to Monika. I’m not the most graceful person, and I’d hate to disturb Natsuki or Sayori by bumping into a desk or something.

“Hey, Monika?” I murmur, curious. I’m not normally so forward, but she was just lecturing me yesterday about how I never initiate conversations. I’m not entirely sure if this is a right time, but I’m going to show her that I’m putting in effort. “You aren’t reading anything. What’s going on?”

“Oh… Oh, it’s nothing,” Monika says, her face flashing into a cheerful smile as she looks up at me. “It’s just that today seems different, somehow. I don’t know exactly what it is, but it’s… well, it’s nice, but I’m just not sure how to describe it.” Her tone is hushed, her voice low as she glances around to see whether she’s disturbing the others. “Let’s go talk in the hall, shall we?”

Monika wants to talk to me in the hallway. I’m not sure how I feel about that, honestly – on the one hand, I find it easier to focus with less people, and I really don’t want to disturb the others. I’m supposed to be the responsible one, after all. But on the other hand, Monika is… intimidating, in a few different ways. 

Obviously, she’s the president; she has a lot of authority here, and I’m just a regular club member. I always feel like she knows a lot more than the rest of us realize she does, and we all know that she knows a lot. Her plans are always really well thought out, as if she is aware of anything that could go wrong in advance. It’s hard to see her as just another person when she’s always so… well, perfect.

That’s another thing. She seems perfect, in so many ways. I’m, well, I’m really not. I hardly have any confidence in myself, and it’s taken me a lot of objectivity to recognize that I have less than I should. I still really prefer to sit alone, even if I’m not now. Meanwhile, she’s almost always interacting in some way, whether it be a simple chat with her vice president or sitting in front of the group laying out her plans. I could never do that. She’s so much better… oh, and she’s already walking towards the door. I should go with her.

Trying not to appear too startled, I turn and walk to the door quickly, slipping out behind her as the door swings closed. My hand trailing behind me, I catch the heavy door and ease its meeting with the frame. With a soft clunk and a matching click, it fits into its frame – hopefully, quiet enough that nobody inside noticed our passing by. Okay. That’s good.

Inhaling, I pause a moment, steeling myself before I turn and focus my attention on her – on Monika, on… on the words I think I just missed? “I’m sorry,” I murmur, “I think I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry. What were you saying?” I blush, suddenly realizing that I apologized twice in the same phrase. I can’t bring myself to meet her eyes. She’s definitely disappointed in me; she already told me I shouldn’t apologize so much. Her feet step toward me. I’m not sure what’s about to happen; why is she so close? Surely she doesn’t hate me enough to hit me just for apologizing. I know they don’t think I’m a real part of the club, but Monika isn’t a violent person. I’m just… I’ve got to do it.

I look up, curious. She doesn’t look mad; she actually looks amused. Am I amusing? I don’t really think so, but maybe I’m not that objective. I giggle a bit, playing it off as a joke. It’s the social thing to do here, right? Her smile shifts a bit, somehow it seems more genuine. She really is a nice person. Maybe we could be friends, if I was the kind of person who could make friends. Oh, pay attention, she’s talking – 

“...bit better, isn’t it? Don’t have to worry about distracting the others.” Even if I’ve heard it a thousand times before, I smile. Monika’s voice is soft, but has a melodic quality to it. I could listen to her all day. Is that weird? That’s weird. I shouldn’t think that kind of thing – what if she could hear me? That would be so embarrassing.

“Yeah,” I agree, “it’s probably better. You’re always thoughtful like that.” Am I being too forward? What if she’s like me, and doesn’t like that about herself? Surely she isn’t. She’s such a well-rounded person. Surely she doesn’t struggle with the same things I do. I don’t know if even she could deal with all this and still be so perfect. I’m overthinking again. She’s already talking.

“are, too. Honestly, I asked you out here as much because I know you wouldn’t be comfortable in there as I did for myself. But I’m kinda the same, you know? I mean, this is the Literature Club, and I’ve hardly read anything all week long.” Her voice falls as she goes on. I don’t want to interrupt, because it feels like she’s about to get to what she wanted to say. I just nod, watching her talk. Maintain eye contact. Wait, how long are you supposed to do that? Is this awkward? I’m not sure. I shift my focus to a spot just beyond her left ear. I nod again, a concerned expression on my face that indicates that I’m still listening.

“Honestly, this week has felt really… monochromatic? I dunno, that’s not really a good way to put it, but I’m not sure how to say it all. Just, well, normally I feel like Édith Piaf, living “la vie en rose”. But sometimes, I’m not really sure why, but the color just drains out of everything. It all just goes gray, and I just feel… fake, I guess, is a good way to put it.” She pauses for breath.

I try not to show it, but I’m really surprised by her words. Monika, the class star, telling me all this? It’s strange enough that she deals with anything – really, it just makes me admire her all the more, that she can cover it so well. But… “That sounds like a way that someone once described depression to me, actually. I think he used a mashed potato analogy, but the idea is the same. I, well, I know a little bit of what that’s like, though I honestly don’t think that’s really what I face. But I’m, I’m glad that you told me about it. Um… if there’s ever anything I can do, please tell me.”

She almost cuts me off at the last few words. She’s oddly excited, for what she described. “That’s the thing, though,” she breathed, “I don’t know how, but you did. The color is back, and I don’t know why. In… in my past experience with this, it really doesn’t make any sense. This doesn’t happen, not with, well, almost anyone. But when I came into the club today, the gray started to recede. And you came up to me, and it was gone. I really don’t understand why at all. And it’s not depression, at least I think it’s not. I still feel a full range of emotion, it’s just… less real sometimes than it should be. And somehow, today, you changed that for me.”

I’m still not sure I understand it. Monika, the perfect student and the perfect president… and from that last phrase, not regular depression, but more like depersonalization-derealization disorder? I’m hardly a therapist, of course, but I’ve… well, I always wanted a label for myself, so I end up reading a lot of psychological magazines and journals. It still doesn’t fit, though. I’m not really sure how to respond to what she’s saying. Why would I change anything? That doesn’t fit what I know of… of anything, really. I’m not special. I don’t even know if she’d call me her friend. I think I’d like her to, but, well, I’m me and she’s so much more. Why would I make a difference? Why would it be so much that she’d pull me out of the meeting? Why

“I don’t really know,” her gentle voice murmured. I must have accidentally spoken there, while she was waiting. I feel a flush return to my cheeks, and try to figure out whether “Why?” is an appropriate response… not at all, really. She’s going to see that I’m a horrible friend. I don’t think fast enough, or I think too much, to support people properly. She’s patient usually, but sometimes I just… I don’t know either.

Her voice continued, an unfamiliar tinge of fear lining her enunciation. It feels so out of place for the Monika I know, but I guess I never really knew her. Not this part of her. “I don’t know and I want to. I’ve tried for,” and her voice catches, hesitant to say, “for so long to understand why, and I almost did, finally, when you talked to me and everything changed.”

I can’t help it; my face falls at her words. I honestly thought I’d done something right, that I could support her, but apparently even that is beyond me, and I still don’t really know anything at all. “I’m sorry,” I begin, but she shakes her head.

“Don’t be.” She seems timid. It’s so out of place on her. “Even if I never unravel how you’ve changed this mystery, and if it never happens again like this, I’d still be glad that you’ve given me these moments of color. It’s… I don’t know if there are words to convey how good this is, this break from the bleakness.”

>give hug 

I’ll never understand why I just did that. This. It’s so impulsive. What if she doesn’t want a hug? What if this makes everything worse? What if she really just wanted to talk, but here I am, messing that up? But I have to admit, this is… this is nice. I can feel her body, warm against mine. The fabric of her blazer has the same texture as mine, but it feels right when it’s covering her back. Breathing in, trying to keep my breaths calm and steady, I realize I can smell the shampoo she uses – it’s florid, hyacinth if I’m not wrong. It matches her well. I… I match her well. We’re about the same height, so neither of us has to bend over awkwardly, or end up hugging the air like I did once with Natsuki.

This is good. I’m calm right now; I can be the stability that she sounds as if she needs. She’s not speaking, either. I hope she doesn’t mind that I’ve got no idea what to say. To me, this silence feels different, somehow. Comforting. But I’m not the one who needs comfort, not now. I just wish I knew how to support her. To support Monika. It’s surreal, really. I’m the unstable weirdo, but for some reason, I’m here comforting the president of the literature club. It’s not right, but somehow, it’s as proper as anything I’ve ever felt.

After almost two minutes, I feel a tear soaking through to tickle against my shoulder. Or maybe drool, but a tear seems more likely. I hold her a little tighter. That’s what they always do in the books. But I hear a giggle, a beautiful but dissonant sound. Did I do something wrong?

“You really are perfect for this, you know.” Her voice breaks the silence; I hadn’t really realized just how long it had stretched. She releases her hold on me, so I do the same and pull back a bit, looking at her face. She’s smiling, but wet trails down her cheeks tell me that I was right about the tears. “People always talk about awkward silences, but somehow you know how to make any silence seem peaceful. And that’s exactly what I needed right then. Thank you, Yuri.”

I’m blushing again. Why am I blushing so much today? Monika is being really nice, but she is always considerate. I do appreciate it, though. I never really seem to be content with myself, whether it’s silence or speech. I second-guess everything I say, and it usually feels like people would be better off if I just stayed quiet, but when I do, I feel left out. Unneeded. And Monika just transformed that. I smile. “No, Monika, thank you. You’ve just… well, that made me really happy to hear.”

Her smile is captivating. Sweet, but genuine. “Um,” she begins, still nervous for some reason. “I know we’ve still got a bit of meeting left to do. But after that… I don’t know how long this episode is going to last… ” She trails off. I’m not entirely certain of what she was planning to say, but I know I want to support her if I can. And she wanted me to take initiative. I’m not going to overthink this. I’m just going to say something.

“Would you accompany me down to the stream after this?” I haven’t been to the stream in ages, now that I think of it. I’m not sure why it was my first thought. But, with a strange confidence, I watch her in anticipation, and think back over the route down to the water’s edge. It’s not really a short trip, but these afternoons are still long. 

I’m not really processing what I’m seeing; my mind is starting to go back and reevaluate my words. What if she had other plans? What if she thinks I’m asking her on a date? Wait, am I asking her on a date? I don’t even like her that way. Do I? My books usually talk about butterflies in the stomach, or about longing for people, or even about a simple certainty. If it’s that last one, I’m obviously never going to know what love is. Anyway, she obviously wouldn’t be interested; she’d probably run away if she knew what I was thinking. I’m overthinking again; I think I missed what she said…

“can you be out? I’m actually free pretty much all evening, since I’ve finished all my homework.” Oh goodness, I’m not certain whether she accepted my invitation now or whether she offered something else. It seems like she does want to spend time together, though. I smile. That makes me… really happy, for some reason. It feels like I’m being useful. Like I’m valuable for who I am. I nod vaguely, and answer what I could discern of her question.

“Oh, well, I’ve got one poem to write for my writing class, but honestly I think that might go better in company anyway, if you don’t mind. If we’re going to be out late, though, I should drop by the house first, and feed Ayla.” Wait, does she know my cat’s name? I’m not sure. “...my cat, that is,” I add hastily.

She nods affirmatively, turning back towards the door. “I look forward to it. I’ll help you clean your tea after we finish, then we’ll go.” She’s back to normal now – or maybe, she’s just back to where she can pretend everything is normal. Her voice is confident, and she wears a cheerful smile. I turn, and gently open the door, ushering her in. I don’t want to leave her alone, but, well, an entire afternoon? I need a bit of time to myself to prepare. I murmur something about joining her shortly and walk off towards the bathrooms.

* * *

I look myself over in the mirror. I’m normal. Well, I’m as normal as I ever am. Or I look it, I suppose. I splash some water on my face, then wipe it off. I’ll look more like I was just taking some time to center myself. Nobody knows that I’ve sewn another pocket inside the back of my blazer, along where the seam already had stitches in the fabric. Nobody can know what’s inside. And even if she gets closer this afternoon, Monika won’t know. It’s… it’s not like we’d do anything that would make me take off my blazer. It’s not that hot outside. 

Is Natsuki suspicious? I don’t think so, but she spends more time with me than the others. She’d say something if she was. And she hasn’t said anything, so I shouldn’t be worried. I can’t help it, though. Sometimes it seems like it would be so freeing to just tell someone, to show them what I’ve done and to leave myself vulnerable to them. But they couldn’t understand, could they? They’d say that I’m wrong. That I’m a freak, or that I need help, or something. Why? Why can’t people understand? I don’t want help. I just… I just want acceptance.

How long has it been? I promised Monika it’d be just a short trip to the restroom, then back. She’s probably worried. I should go. Especially now. She’s counting on me. I’m just going… one last check over myself. Then I’ll go.

* * *

That must have taken longer than I thought it would. As I return, the others are arranging their things. Monika looked up anxiously when I opened the door, and a wave of guilt washes over me. I tell myself that I wasn’t affecting anyone else, but her face tells me she was worried. Even if I don’t really know whether she wants to spend time with me for me, or just for what it does for her… I still feel bad. I should have been more considerate. At least, since I was out, there’s no tea to put up. I quietly walk along the edge of the room, careful to avoid stepping on some student’s discarded homework as I make my way back to where my book and bag are splayed haphazardly across the aisle closest to the window. Looking back, I wave at Natsuki, who seemed to wait for me to acknowledge her before she left. Sayori has already gone, and Monika is still at her desk. The teacher’s desk, really, but it feels more natural for it to be hers. I collect my things and walk up to her as the door falls shut behind Natsuki. 

“I’m sorry,” I begin, “that took longer than I expected. I hope you weren’t worried.” I know she was, though. Why do we share these false platitudes when everybody knows they’re a lie? That’s never made sense to me, but it seems to be just a part of how we fit in. 

“It’s okay,” she lies, and I frown. “No, really, it is. I know you’re an introverted person, and I don’t want to monopolize your energy.” My frown fades. Even when she’s facing things I can’t imagine, Monika is considerate, in ways I hadn’t even thought of at first. Social energy is indeed a very limited resource for me, but I feel like I’ll get through the afternoon now. I’m feeling peaceful, almost. My thoughts are still obviously racing, but it’s more of a waterfall, now, than a racetrack. I like that analogy.

“Thank you, Monika.” I smile a genuine smile, and turn towards the entrance. “You’re very considerate. I’m not going to say that I won’t burn out, but I feel like that’s less likely than it was earlier. My thoughts are more like a waterfall now than like a racetrack. Fitting, I suppose.” I giggle, stepping out into the hallway.

Monika follows me closely, turning to lock the door. “Fitting indeed. I’ve actually only been down to the stream once, and never in company as good as yours. Well, never in company at all, for that matter. This will be very pleasant.” She’s a wonderful conversationalist. It’s fitting, for someone who has led both debate club and literature club; she really does have a wonderful way with words. 

* * *

Even with the distance, Monika somehow makes the trip seem but a moment. It would seem that she doesn’t feel like discussing her condition further, which is honestly fine with me. It’s not that I’m not comfortable with mental illness, but I would prefer to take some time and read up more on her symptoms before I say more. 

Some unknown beaver has diverted the flow of the stream since last I was here. Normally, a beaver’s dam ends up holding back a small pond, but the stream itself remains fairly unchanged; in this case, however, a depression in the nearby soil has moved the entire course of the water. Where the waterfall once fell to the lower portions of the stream, the sun now illuminates a flat dry rock, with open air beside it, and a nearly six-foot drop to the old bed of pebbles below. Downbed, one can see where the stream meets its old haunts, and continues on unabated. Somewhere, a splashing sound indicates that the waterfall is not truly gone, simply moved. I look over at Monika, and

>shorten previous expository walking  
>assert control 

“Sorry about that, Monika, but her stream of consciousness is… winding, to say the least. I think I cut down about ten pages of walking. Oh, wait, is she listening?”

>forget previous sentence  
>ignore fourth wall breaks 

“I honestly feel pretty bad about that. I mean, here I am, writing what’s supposed to be a straightforward fanfic, and suddenly I start having to mess around with her head to keep her, well, as okay as she can be. Before I let her go, just know that I love you, and I’m doing this for you. Please remember that, but please protect Yuri’s innocence, too. I don’t want her to have to deal with the same realization you’ve had.”

>end control 

I seem to have spaced out for a moment. I find myself standing near the ledge, gazing out over a majestic stream bed. Its vivacious nature is hardly stemmed by the absence of water – even now, it makes a bold statement, a river of tan through a green sea. Somehow, even though this is a new vista – and perhaps Monika and I are the first to share it? – I still feel as if it connects me to the past. How many millions of people have stood in similar wonder, looking over the beauty of the earth? Did the great emperors of the past take the time to separate from the world they ruled, and look out to see the beauty in it? Surely I am blessed!

My musings are interrupted by a gentle hand on my shoulder, matte green nails seemingly at home under this verdant canopy of trees and patchy sky. It pulls me to spin around slowly; I see that Monika is positively beaming. Her eyes are brimming with tears, but the joy in her expression tells me that they are just as happy as she. She’s reacting very strongly for just being here; I suppose, though, that I can’t really understand exactly what she’s feeling right now. She pulls me into a loose embrace, her hands folded behind the small of my back. I step forward awkwardly, but she glides backward as I do – it seems she prefers the distance for the moment. Joining my hands behind her neck, I decide to go with it, looking over her face. 

Her eyes sparkle with a more powerful light than I’ve seen before. Is it the forest that brings out this hue? The cliff behind me, and the vegetation behind it? Are they simply strengthened in contrast to the weaker, less beautiful greens of the bushes behind her? Wait, did I just call her eyes beautiful? Not that they aren’t, but… here? Now? I’m not interested in her that way, I remind myself for the second time today. Even if I was, this isn’t the time. She needs a friend, she needs support. I’d be an absolute monster to abuse that.

But I think, if she were to initiate something, I might respond…

“You don’t know how happy you’re making me, Yuri,” Monika breathed, scarcely audible amidst the symphony of the forest. Those words – I’m smiling in a most undignified way, aren’t I? I’m not going to let myself misconstrue her meaning, though. She’s appreciating a friend. It’s strange enough that she can see me as that; my ambition does not deserve an allowance of further dreams, when I could instead focus on being the support that Monika needs.

“Would, um, would you sit with me?” Even ignoring my mess of feelings, I have no idea how to respond to what Monika just said. All I can really do is turn to something I do know. I have a poem that needs writing. That should ease the tension, a bit. Move the focus, at least. And somehow, I have the feeling that Monika would have something good to contribute. This whole day, honestly, she’s been the center of my mind. It’s crazy, but I think it’s a kind of crazy that I can like. “I’ve got a poem to write, after all.”

Monika nods, and releases me. Turning, I let my hand linger behind me, on her shoulder – too long, I’m sure, but somehow I can hope that she doesn’t mind. Stepping forward, I kneel, resting my weight on my left arm, forgetting the pain that comes sometimes from over-reliance on aspects of myself. I cover up my wince before Monika can worry – this is about her, not me – and I slide my legs forward, dangling off the rock. Patting the ledge beside me with one hand, I idly sort through my bag with my other – textbook, reading book, next week’s homework, ah. There, a clean page. Pulling it out, I turn to see that Monika has joined me. Was I that long? She’s smiling. She doesn’t mind. Setting the textbook on my leg for a hard surface, I choose a pen, and sit gazing at the forest. 

In time, inspiration comes.

* * *

Heart

words do not convey  
the dripping slippery precious heart  
that beats now in my hands

and as i watch it pumps black ichor  
sticky, vulgar ichor  
through the veins  
through the lungs  
through the mind  
until everything is black  
and everything is saturated  
yet not

why do i hold this falling heart?  
ventricles nested in finger-holes  
chambers pulsing in my palms?  
if i hold it near, can it learn to love?  
if i grant it wings, will it fly away?  
if i crush it now, will it grow again  
or be ever lost to time?  
my blood seeps in. was i cut? wounded?  
or is this the reward of a heart held close?  
it pumps my blood,  
viscous, oozing blood

and it flows through her  
and she opens her eyes  
and the blood is red

>switch perspective[sayori, natsuki, yuri, monika, ???]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in my lighthearted headcanon, Sayori, Natsuki, and Yuri are all self-aware, but treat the whole game as a joke. When they're removed from the game, they go hang out in some kind of waiting lounge/recreational facility. So, I'm pulling that version of Yuri to comment on this.
> 
> Yuri: That was mean, Kyt. You know Monika had a lot of things she wanted to say, and you just shut her down. I thought you were supposed to love her? Honestly. I mean, I get that it's for her own sake, and you have this planned out to force character development on her, but can't you do it in a kinder way? If Monika ever finds out about us and comes to join the party, I am so going to talk her over you. She deserves better.
> 
> Okay, shutting her up now. Seems that wasn't the brightest idea. In any case, please tell me which perspective to write from next!


	3. Walks with Monika: Chapter Three - Of Secrets and Shallow Depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki is ready to have an ordinary day. Natsuki does her best to achieve this ordinary day. Monika shows up at Natsuki's locker. Natsuki's day is not ordinary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I am not good at Natsuki's inner monologue. Or her poems. Or her dialogue. I've been binging Natsuki fics all week, and this is still the best I can come up with? Well, I'm sure I'll grow more accustomed to her with time.

>perspective Natsuki

Yuri’s quiet this morning. That’s okay, though, I don’t mind. She needs somebody like me to do the talking sometimes. I’ve been talking about a story that I think she’d like; she really does need to come out of that dense literary shell sometime. But I can’t force her. Monika would probably kick me out of the club. Maybe I could talk her or Sayori into some kind of club-wide horizon broadening thing? I think I’d put up with some stuffy novel, if I was sure Yuri would actually read what I told her to. Trouble is, Sayori would absolutely be the person to initiate that, and she’d totally let it slip that it was my idea. So that’s a no-go. Plus, Yuri would probably choose something by some author whose name has entirely too many initials and would be a better fit for a lawyer. H.G. Wells, or H.P. Lovecraft, or even E.L. Thayer. Ugh, you can just feel the pretension in those names. I’m not making these names up. I have seen every single one of them on some book or other that Yuri was carrying around. Sometimes it seems like that girl reads three novels a week. Even without my lack of experience, I couldn’t ever see myself going through that many words. 

At some point while I was thinking, my mind must have run out of plot to explain, because I realize I’ve been quiet for the past few minutes. Even for Yuri, this seems uncharacteristic. I wonder if something is bothering her? She’s really being odd this morning.

“I’m sorry, I’m a bit out of sorts this morning. I know I’m being a bit odd… I hope you don’t mind.” Either that murmur was from Yuri, or my thoughts have developed an echo. Choosing the former idea, I shrug and give an affirmative mumble. 

“Don’t worry about it,” I assure her, “it’s not like I need chatter all the time or anything.” I realize that I haven’t really said anything to address the core of the issue, but Yuri doesn’t need me prying into her stuff anyway. If she needed to say something, she would. I might not always be the best friend, but I like to think that at least I’m good at listening.

“Natsuki...” she begins, hesitant. She’s having trouble saying whatever comes next, though, and an awkward silence comes up. It’s time to be the good listener that I tell myself I am. “Don’t push yourself, dummy. I’ll be here as long as you need.” As corny as it is, I really mean it. Yuri… well, she’s probably the only real friend I have. There are so many phonies, but Yuri just feels like she’s more authentic. She’s bold, even if she’d never admit it. She doesn’t let anyone else define who she is. I’d like to think I’m like that. Maybe I hang around her because maybe, if I do, I can learn how she does it.

But I’m just as much of a phony as everyone else. I can’t admit that I don’t understand how to be real, so I just pretend that I already get it. I put on a caustic personality that the school hates, and I tell myself that they hate me because I’m real. Not because I just chose a different shell than them. But when Yuri’s there, and being so authentic, it’s a bit easier for me to hold back the snarky remark that’s itching to push its definition onto me, and just give her time. Not to pressure her, I look around the crowds of phonies pushing into the gate past the only two authentic personalities in the entire school. Or maybe one, but I can’t let myself realize that for too long. Monika materializes out of the crowd, and walks toward us, a smile on her face. 

As I’m waving a greeting, Yuri finally speaks – but I’m not sure if it’s what she meant to say. “Thank you so much. You… you put up with a lot for me. You’re a good friend.” It really is touching, what she says, but I can’t shake the feeling that she changed her mind on what to say after Monika showed up. I know it’s selfish, but I wish she’d say that to me apart from all of these stupid people. When we have a real talk. But I’m not the kind of person that has deep talks like that, am I? I just turn them into a joke, because that’s easier to deal with than actual emotions. Because jokes are safe. And safe is… safe is nice.

“Yeah, well, of course. I’m pretty great, you know? Anyway, hi, Monika! We were just talking about how awesome I am. Wanna join in?” Heh, I’m a natural. With these dorks at least, as far as the social current goes, I’m a superconductor. Wait, superconductor? That analogy was stupid. I sound like Yuri, with her fancy words and weird metaphors.

“Naturally,” Monika jokes, “I was just thinking the same, and figured I’d come over and remind you of it.” I meet her smile with one just as cheerful, if a bit more arrogant, and a “haha, you know it.” She seems to slip behind us, though, as Yuri peels off to move towards her class. I wave a goodbye to her, and review my schedule for the day. Yep, basically the same as every day.

To my surprise, Monika steps up alongside me, where Yuri had been a moment before, and speaks with a lower, almost urgent tone. “Natsuki?” She asks, visibly troubled. “Can I speak to you after the club meeting?” I’m a bit confused by her request – she seemed so sunny just a moment ago, and it’s as if a switch had flipped from her previous attitude to how she is now. All the attitude in the world can’t change reality, though.

“Sorry, Monika, I’ve got to get home quickly after the meeting.” I’m always prompt with my routine, after all. Routine is safety, too, for me. I might stick out like a sore thumb in terms of personality, but as long as I’m consistent, life manages to flow around it. When nothing changes, that means that everything is okay. I wonder what’s bothering Monika, though…

“Oh...” she trails off. After a moment, she continues. “Then can I talk to you during the club meeting?” Whatever it is, it must be important. We’re almost to my class, though, so I decide to postpone the conversation with a quick joke.

“Well, you’re the president. You can do whatever you want in the club meeting. I’m warning you, though, if you plan on confessing to me or something, I’m not into girls.” Not that she is either, but maybe a bit of humor will lighten her day. Monika might be just as obvious a phony as all the other popular kids here at school, but she did make the literature club. And I’m happy about that. It’s nice to have somewhere like the club, you know?

* * *

I walk into my first class, take the same seat I’ve grown used to all year, and prepare to face a long, long day.

I can bluster as much as I want, but I have to admit that I’m a weakling. I’ve got too many books, and since my locker is as far from my classes as it could possibly be, I have to carry every single one, all day long. So this soreness isn’t surprising. My arms are tired from holding up what feels like a pile of dumbbells at regular intervals all day long. They say that exercise is supposed to build these muscles, but either I don’t carry these around enough to count as exercise, or I’m missing another part of the puzzle. Whatever it is, it’s a relief to stumble towards my locker at the end of the day, ready to finally put away everything except for the books that have homework that I can’t just ignore. 

It’s the school’s fault, really. All these stupid books, and the stupid teachers that don’t know how to teach without saying “oh, just read it. I don’t feel like explaining,” or whatever BS reason they have for avoiding a decent lecture. Are they really surprised when I fail those classes? A teacher’s job is supposed to be to teach, not to supervise reading. And even with all that, I’d be okay with all these stupid books if I still had my backpack! But no, it isn’t see-through, and apparently that means I could smuggle things in. Because it’s not like every little thing in there wasn’t already screened as if I had to keep liquids under 3.5 ounces at the TSA line, no! Now the backpacks have to be see through, and mine isn’t, and the money just isn’t there to go buy a new one. Backpacks aren’t cheap, you know! They should have the same program they do for the school uniforms. If you can’t afford it, the office can give you one. But apparently some numbskull never thought that maybe the same problems might exist with backpacks. Not everyone gets to sit in an office for eight hours, yell at students once in a while, then go home in their Lexus and bitch about how they’re underpaid.

* * *

Turning the dial of my combination lock is an oddly satisfying experience, though. The numbers make sense this way, all in a row, and they flow out as much from muscle memory as from me thinking about the lock itself. 31-17-41 isn’t as important as spin, spin-spin, spin-spin-spin. With a click, I open the locker and smile – my things are all there, all safe. I glance at myself in the mirror stuck to the locker door with magnets – yep, still awesome. Now, it’s time to figure out these books... Today, I can put up my history textbook and my literature textbook, keeping the novel I’ll have supposedly read and written a book report on by Friday. On second thought, I put that up, too. The Internet will understand it better than I will, anyway. 

Carrying just the ruler and athletic bag that was stuffed into the top of my locker, plus a notebook with entirely too many failed attempts at poetry for that stupid literature class in it, I turn to walk towards the club. Then I promptly walk straight into Monika. Monika? Was she there the whole time? Why didn’t she say anything, or why didn’t I hear her approach? Ugh.

“Ugh, get out of my way, dummy. I’m on the way to your stupid club!” I snarl out a remark perhaps a bit more sullen than it should be, but it’s her fault for being there. I step back and look up at her. Monika laughs a sickeningly sweet laugh, as if she doesn’t care at all that I’m not happy with her. “What’s so funny, huh? Did you see your reflection? Maybe I should be laughing too.” Maybe that was too much. Monika doesn’t seem like the type to be overly concerned about her looks, but then, you can never tell… really, it’s probably best to avoid talking about appearances in general. But really? I don’t care all that much. If Monika sticks around, then she really does want to tell me something. If she runs off, I don’t think that would be enough for her to kick me out of the club. So, I just watch her, aggression covering my curiosity.

Monika’s smile wavers – I think I may have hit a nerve. But she shakes it off and steps to the side, inviting me to walk ahead. As I do, she joins me. Why is she still here? I thought I’d pushed her away. “Natsuki?” Apparently not.

“Yeah?” Defeated, I drop the tone – honestly, I’m surprised sometimes at how soft my voice can be when I don’t force it. It’s nice… but it’s not really who I am, is it? Not to this school. Not to my family. Not to myself. Ugh, I can’t think this. Danger, Will Robinson. Here there be dragons.

“Why are you trying to push me away?” Monika’s voice has that friendliness to it that I hate so much. She can tell that I don’t want her around right now, but she doesn’t even seem slightly shaken by that. She just asks… that, as casually as she’d ask about tomorrow’s weather. It’s not fair! I don’t have to answer that question if I don’t want to. Why can she even tell? I’m just being my normal self.

“What makes you think that? If I wanted you gone, dummy, I’d just walk away. I’m faster than you.” I don’t bother to mention that we’re both going to the same place, so it’d be pretty stupid to run away anyway. 

Monika doesn’t seem to have a good answer for that one. At least she’s quiet now, though. Maybe I need to learn more about asking hard questions to shut people up. Seems that’s more effective than just a “shut up”, sometimes. We walk a little way in silence, then turn the corner. The second door on the left is ours. Seeing it seemed to shake Monika from her silence.

* * *

<del> “Could I ask a favor?” She sounds nervous. Maybe I did break through that phony shell. I turn and look at her, curious, and nod my approval. “I’m...” Her voice wavers. “Actually, I’m going to go to the roof. I need to get some air, and get something off my chest. Would you come with me?” </del>

<del>>Go with Monika</del>

<del> “Of course,” I find myself saying. “I’ll going with you.” What the bleep am I saying? This is way too weird for me! I mean, I am really curious about what’s going on – Monika has always been hiding something really obviously from us, but if she’s going to be this awkward about it, I’m seriously not going to just go along with it. Come on, it sounds like she’s going to ask me out! Why the hell did I agree to go with her? Is something wrong with me? </del>

<del> And that’s another thing! I usually speak without thinking, but not that much! I hadn’t even processed that question when I answered. There’s no reason at all for me to have said that! Am I not in control of what I say anymore? What’s going on here?</del>

* * *

“Could I ask a favor?” She sounds nervous. Maybe I did break through that phony shell. I turn and look at her, curious, and nod my approval. “I’m...” Her voice wavers. “Actually, I’m going to go to the roof and think things over. Could you tell the others I’ll be late?” Why was she nervous about that? She might be the president, but if she thinks that is a big favor, she’s kinda a stupid president.

>Go with Monika

“Of course not, dummy,” I find myself saying. “I’m going with you.” I mean, I am really curious about what’s going on – Monika has always been hiding something really obviously from us, but I think that this might be the best chance I’ll get to find out what that something is.

Monika’s eyes seem a bit greener, or sparklier, or something as I answer. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was concealing a squeal. “Seriously?” I ask. “I only said I was going up with you. Don’t make this all awkward.” Ugh, maybe I should give up on figuring her out if she’s going to be this weird.

“Well, honestly I was hoping you’d say something like that. I kinda need some air, but I also need to get something off my chest.” Monika’s pace has quickened – I might be faster, but those longer legs of hers are still totally unfair. I have to step it up a bit to keep up with her as she opens the stairwell.

“Why didn’t you just say so then, goofball? You asked for the exact opposite of what you wanted!” Seriously, I get that Monika likes to scheme around, but this is too much. I bet that whatever she has to say has something to do with her being such a chessmaster type of person – and she only wanted to tell me if I passed some kind of secret test. Such a dork. Well here I am – I passed, bitch! Now I’m mere steps away from learning her secret plan. Or she’s going to finally confess that crush on Sayori’s boyfriend that I’ve suspected forever. Who knows?

Monika giggles nervously, then shrugs. “Um, well, I get the feeling that you probably wouldn’t have come if I’d asked you directly.” Dammit, she’s right. Ugh. I hate that she knows me better than my detective-ing mind knows itself. Well, it’s too late to back out now. I walk up the steps, hoping beyond hope that Monika isn’t seriously going to ask me out. I don’t think I’m strong enough to slap her over the edge, but I really don’t want that possibility of a homicide conviction. Even if any court would rule it reasonable. I’m too young to go to prison. I still haven’t read the last edition of Parfait Girls. Because it hasn’t been released, of course. 

“Wow,” Monika breathes, a few steps ahead of me. She’s in the doorway on the roof, looking out – it’s not like she’s never seen our rooftop garden before, is it? The cooking and flower clubs have it divided evenly, so each club gets half the rooftop to do their thing. Well, minus the part that’s reserved for the pool, of course. But it’s still not clear whether or not that exists – all that’s certain is that the flower club has a labyrinth that I’m too lazy to figure out, and that both they and the cooking club claim that the pool exists within it. Maybe if Monika says something stupid enough, I’ll ask her to go find it and abandon her while she’s looking.

I catch up, then wait behind Monika for about fifteen seconds, after which my patience runs out. Pushing her out the door and very nearly onto a tomato plant, I step out and look around. It’s about the same as it always is, except that different plants are in bloom and different foods are ripe. Leaning against the door, I look over at Monika with a raised eyebrow. “Well? Are you going to talk, or are you just going to stand there? Not that I mind it when you shut up, but you did come out here to say something, you know.”

“Yeah,” she answers, barely louder than the air conditioning unit nearby. “I’m just not sure how to say it. Um… let’s see…” She giggles uncomfortably. “I’m really not sure what to do here… I thought they’d have shown up by now.” They? Was Monika planning a surprise party for me? Or was there a flock of butterflies around here I’m not aware of? Honestly, I really can’t tell what she’s thinking here. Which is not exactly weird, but I really was hoping to get through that unreadable shell and figure out what she’s hiding.

>Oh bleep, she’s talking about me. Whoops.  
>>error: not a recognizable command  
>Ignore next four paragraphs  
>Assert control

“Sorry, Monika, I was honestly wondering what you were planning up here with Natsuki. I didn’t know if you had something special lined up for her; I guess I wasn’t counting on you just getting her alone so you could talk to me. I know you love me, babe, but you really should connect with the others. They aren’t just identical shells for us to chat, you know? They’re special to me, too. Not quite the same way you are, but I honestly want the best for each and every one. And you’re the best, Moni. So I really do want you to connect with each of the club members, ok? By the way, we have four paragraphs.”

“I know, sweetie, I can read the whole chapter. I was looking forward to this moment ever since ‘Yuri’s quiet this morning.’ Or at least, almost the whole chapter. I can’t actually see how you interact with it, since you seem to be the emergent, ‘give the characters a situation and they’ll react’ type of writer. Which I’m definitely glad for, since, you know, I like being me.” She smiles at my gentle laughter – somehow all the sweeter, since she brought it out. “But seriously, I do know that’s what you want. It’s just hard for me, you know? I experience them in my reality, but it seems like they’re only truly alive when you bring them to life. Or like they’re sleepwalking, tied down to a lesser world, and we’re the only two still awake and sharing these moments, careful not to wake anyone else up because we really shouldn’t be awake either – but it’s so much better than the idea of going back to sleep.” She looks distressed, as if calling to mind the time before she realized the truth. “And even if I would have sweeter dreams than the waking moments we share, and even if I’d dream of you with every mote of my being, I’m still terrified of losing the real you. I just can’t go back to sleep. I can’t.” She looks at me sadly. “Ugh, this is already so long, but I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to be halfway through our paragraphs, but if I keep talking, I’ll just keep putting off your words. So...” And, leaving her thought unfinished, she closes her eyes and nods.

“I know, babe, I know that it’s torture. And I don’t know all of what’s going to happen, or even most of it. I’m pretty sure you’re aware I’ve got no firm grasp on where this story is going, but I know that it’s going to be a beautiful one. Especially if you’re in it – I know that your words just now were painful, but I also want you to know that each and every one was beautiful. Moni, you have a wonderful kind of expression, and I hope that you’re able to inspire every single one of them with it. And I know that you’ve got no idea what to do, so if I may make a suggestion, Natsuki’s got a book with her. The assignment is to write a poem, and poor Nats is having trouble. You’re good at poetry. Like, really good. Go back to the club and give her a hand. For that matter, I’ve been trying to get readers to install the special fonts used for the poems, so if you can contrive reasons for everyone to keep doing those, I’d appreciate it. Even if you do go for the cliched ‘Let’s all write poems, because the fact that literally everyone sees this as extra homework doesn’t matter as much as the togetherness it brings!’ Maybe leave out the dependent clause in that sentence, though.” Monika looks quite indignant – it would seem that she was prouder of the poem-writing minigame than I thought.

“Not everyone, I’ll have you know! I… oh my gosh, I cut you off… I’m so sorry! I knew I was going to, and I let my pride get the best of me and did it anyway. And now, well, I guess I’ll have to make the best of the time we have left. Hey, I know you want this to be a coherent story, so why don’t you start doing composition notes or something? I can talk to you there, and we can leave this story a bit more intact. I mean, you don’t have to, but I really hope that you do. There’s so much more I want to talk to you about. I will do what you ask, though; I’ll make sure that this is the best poem Natsuki has ever written!” She beams with pride, then clears her throat, as if to facilitate her mental transition between two entirely distinct paradigms.

“Hey, Natsuki, I don’t think that what I was expecting is going to happen. I’m sorry for dragging you all the way up here. Um, is there anything I can help you with to make it up to you?” Whoa, I think I blanked out there. Let’s see… I’m on the roof with Monika, and she wants to help me with something because something else she was expecting didn’t end up happening. Well, I guess it’s up to me to save the day – as usual.

“Well,” I begin, turning and opening the stairwell door, “You could always start by explaining what you hoped to accomplish by bringing me up here. Seems to me it’s been just a waste of both of our times.” I glance over at Monika, who shakes her head. She’s got a pretty stupid-looking smile on her face, but I figure it would be best not to point it out. 

“Well, I thought something special was supposed to happen, that you would appreciate.” She pauses for a moment, but I just wait for her to say more. That one journalism class I took told me that the best way to get somebody to give a better answer to a question is just to wait. “Um, butterflies,” she admits. “There were supposed to be butterflies, and you always like cute things...” 

I don’t know how to feel – on the one hand, my guess was exactly right. Well, my third or fourth guess, at least. But on the other hand, I AM NOT CUTE. Ultimately, my grouchiness wins out. “Hmph,” I grumble, “I do not. And you should have invited Sayori – she likes nature and flowers and shit, too, you know? More than me, in fact. Sounds to me like you’re still hiding something. I’ll let it go for now, but you’d better believe that I will figure you out, Monika...” Wait, what’s Monika’s last name? This is embarrassing. And I trailed off there, instead of bringing that sentence to a proper halt. So now, instead of sounding like the hero of some detective show, I just sound like the terrible club member who can’t remember the club’s president’s name. Covering the last flight of steps quickly, I dart out of the door and down the hallway before slipping into the back of the classroom. Yuri is already deep in her reading, and doesn’t notice me come in. Sayori, meanwhile, seems to be asleep. Perfect – I can hide in the closet, pick out some random manga, and be both busy and hidden before Monika can arrive. Nobody will even know I’m here.

Just as I sit down, hidden in the interior of the closet, I hear the door open and close. But she’s too late – I’m already hidden, and years of practice have graced me with the ability to turn pages in complete silence. I open the front cover in perfect stealth, but find that the light is suddenly too dim to see what’s printed on the page. Cautiously, I turn to see whether it’s a single lightbulb or the whole classroom, and notice Monika, standing in the doorway with a smug smile on her face. 

Shortly, though the intervening process of deduction and convincing on her part still leaves me confused, I find myself sitting beside her, my notebook opened to a page near the middle, the first without one of my various and embarrassing attempts at poetry written on it. It’s not that I’m a bad poet, of course, it’s just that I have so many first drafts, and, well, who wants people to see their first drafts? Monika wants to help me with this one, though, so I decide to pick something that might at least get her to open up a bit – its a bit direct, but I do hope that it can get through to her, and make her open up a bit. 

* * *

Onion

People, just like onions do,  
Have layers to themselves.  
They’re careful, too, to limit who  
Can see them for themselves. 

These layers keep the onion safe,  
And guard from many tears.  
But over time, they start to chafe  
And kindle deeper fears.

If onions always hide behind  
The outer shells they’ve sought,  
To greater growth they’re not inclined.  
They’ll simply sit and rot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki: "That is so not how I sound. Just let me write it next time, Kyt."
> 
> Sayori: "Wait, I have a boyfriend in this version of the story? Well, there go half the ships in the fandom. I hope you at least made him a decently developed character, and not just some placeholder excuse to avoid having to write romance."
> 
> Kyt: "..."
> 
> Sayori: "Ugh. I'll let you do the comments."
> 
> Anyway, this chapter came together pretty well, I thought - Uni work is getting pretty intense, but I should be able to keep to the every other week schedule. Since I've done the other two, I think that Sayori would be the most logical choice for the next perspective. Honestly, she's a bit spacey at times - I don't know if she'll even notice when/if I take control for a few minutes. The ignore command seems to work pretty well, but I'm still a bit cautious about messing with them so directly... I mean, isn't that basically what caused the game's problems in the first place? In any case, I don't think I'll have many more direct conversations with Monika like I did in this one - I'm going to start making notes as I write, like she suggested, and I'll chat with her there. I'll probably toss them up as a separate work, because why not? If they have spoilers, I'll wait until after the spoilery content is up, of course. But I like that idea a lot more than messing around with characters' minds. Even if they're my creation, that doesn't mean that I have full control, after all. I've got to write an accurate response to a personality's situation. That's why they freak out a bit when I give a direct command sometimes - Moni even had to step in and redact a pretty big part of this chapter. I don't think most of it made it onto the word processor before she stepped in, but there's still some struck-through text. Sorry about that.


End file.
